


Run Run (Rudolph)

by TheStrange_One



Series: 12 Days of Christmas [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Letters, Searching, event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrange_One/pseuds/TheStrange_One
Summary: On the fifth day of Christmas, my True Love gave to me--A postal run, A caroling, a blue snow, a fairy tale, and a cute Spideypool story.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: 12 Days of Christmas [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568926
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Run Run (Rudolph)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fabytherabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabytherabbit/gifts).



Peter watched the Avengers mingle with the children, Thor repeatedly disappearing under little bodies as they attacked him. They were doing well. The children loved them and if they didn’t love the children back, well, it was impossible to tell.

While Peter was glad they were doing this child-friendly “Hero Meet Day” he wasn’t really sure why he was there at all. Sure, he was _technically_ one of the Avengers (if someone squinted really hard), but it wasn’t like any of the kids attending _wanted_ him there. (He would say that they were really shy, except for the way they were tumbling all over the other “heroes” in attendance.) So he was just left standing like an awkward wall flower at a school dance (which he had frequently been). 

A slight tingle of his senses alerted him to the fact that someone was watching him. He turned his head to look at a young child.  The child, only about three feet tall, was watching him with narrow, wary eyes far too old for the face.

Peter didn’t really have a lot of experience with children. (He didn’t count pulling them out of harm’s way.) “Can I help you?” he asked awkwardly.

“I don’t know.” The child watched him for a moment before darting eyes over to the Avengers. The child turned back to him. “My hero isn’t here.”

Well, there were a lot of people that Peter thought of as heroes for the city that hadn’t been invited. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, with complete honesty.

The child looked away. “I wrote him a letter.” The child scowled. “Well, I  _drew_ him pictures. My letters aren’t good yet.”

Ah! Something that Peter could actually help with. “ I can deliver it for you,” he offered.

The child looked at him warily. “Really? ‘Cause I asked Iron Man and he laughed.”

Peter wished he could say he was surprised—but he wasn’t. Iron Man was not known for his tact and all the people he (vaguely) respected were here in this room. Peter crouched to where he was on eye level with the kid. “I won’t laugh,” he promised solemnly.

The kid fidgeted for a moment, looking all around the room, before quickly pulling an envelope out from the jacket and handing it to him.  Peter looked at the drawing on the envelope, the red, black, and white mask. “Deadpool?” he asked.

The kid flushed and went to grab the envelope back. “Don’t  _laugh_ !”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter said, trying to soothe the upset child. “I wasn’t laughing; I was asking. I just want to make sure I deliver it to the right person.”

The kid shifted from foot to foot before nodding. “He saved me,” the child said quietly.

Peter smiled behind his mask. “He’s a good hero,” he said warmly.

“Oh, yeah!” the child said, suddenly enthusiastic. “Like, the house was on fire, and he lost his arm, but he was still all like, ‘No need to be concerned random citizen number three’.” Peter chuckled; the kid’s imitation of Deadpool was spot on. “ ‘Oh, my arm’s gone! ‘Tis but a scratch, milady!’ ”

Peter burst out into a laugh before he said, “You’re really good. I bet, if you wanted, you could make a career out of impressions.”

The child grinned—and then the grin dropped. Peter glanced the way the kid was looking and saw that Iron Man was walking over. “Don’t forget you promised,” the child warned before wandering off.

“What did you promise?” asked Iron Man.

“Oh, the kid just had a favor to ask me,” Peter said as he tucked the envelope into a hidden pocket of his suit.

“Ah. Well, I’m glad to see you’re getting along with the little rugrats. _I’m_ off—Pepper has informed me that I’ve served my community. Have fun.” He left.

Peter shook his head. It was time for him to leave too. After all, he had a letter to deliver. And how hard could it be to find Deadpool?

Hard. It was very hard. Peter had no idea where the man actually lived (he knew the merc had safe houses all over the city, but he didn’t seem to live in any of them).  He checked all the safe houses, just in case—nope. Checked through all of Deadpool’s favorite eating places—nope. Checked random back alleys just in case—nope.

For  _years_ Peter had been running into Deadpool as Spiderman, but now that he was  _looking_ for the merc, he was nowhere to be found!

Peter paused, perched on the ledge of a building like a brightly colored gargoyle. He rubbed his face. “Okay,” he said out loud. “Think. If I was Deadpool, where would I go?”

“You could try Sister Margaret’s,” purred a voice behind him. He turned to see a familiar black clad blond woman behind him.

“Black Cat,” he said, amused. “Out relieving personal property tonight?”

“Why?” she asked as she flirtatiously tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Going to lock me up and throw away the key?”

It was tempting. He knew she was out breaking the law—but she wasn’t really hurting anyone and he had other things to do. Plus, she’d given him a direction. “Not tonight,” he said with a grin before leaping off.

Sister Margaret’s was an old building that Peter was pretty sure  would have been condemned if the planning commission wasn’t getting bribed. Normally he didn’t spend much time in this area. The people who used this bar generally made their mayhem far away from it—and if they were  _in_ the bar, drinking, then they weren’t out and causing trouble at that very moment. Besides, everyone deserved a place of retreat.

Peter slipped into the bar—and his senses went haywire. He shot to the ceiling just as several bullets went through the door and moved to stay just ahead of them as the clientele decided to that Spiderman was part of the menu and they were going to take him down redneck style.

The chaos was broken by the sound of an air horn and everyone turned towards the bartender. “The next fucker who fires a gun in here,” he growled, “is unemployed.”

“It’s Spiderman!” protested one of the men with guns. “He’s gonna arrest us all!”

“For what?” quipped Spiderman. “Drinking alcohol when you’re legally of age?” Senses quiet(er) now he dropped to the floor. “I’m just looking for someone.”

“And who might that be?” demanded the angry man with a gun.

“Deadpool.”

The bartender sighed and rubbed his head. “Of course you are,” he muttered. He turned. “Wade. Wade! Get your scarred ass out of my liquor and take Spiderman out of my bar. What? I don’t care if you have pants on!” Peter felt his face flame under the mask. “ Get your lazy ass out of my bar!”

A scarred man, clad only in shirt and a mask and holding a pair of pants, was thrust into the main part of the bar. “I hear ya, I hear ya—Spidey! How’s it hangin’?” He looked down and saw that his nether regions were exposed to the air. “Aw, crud. Lemme get dressed Spides.”

“Sure thing,” agreed Peter.

“You sure you’re looking for him?” asked one of the women, leaning across a table towards Peter in such a way that it thrust her ample breasts towards him.

“I’m sure,” Peter said with a smile.

Deadpool came out (fully dressed) gently grabbed Peter by the arm and said, “To the Bat Cave!”

“Bat Cave?”

“Wrong franchise. To the Spidey-bots!” Peter rolled his eyes, but followed Deadpool.

Later the two of them were in one of Deadpool’s safe houses as he lounged on a beanbag chair. “So, what brings the illustrious booty of Spiderman down into the dumps?”

“Well,” drawled Peter, “maybe if you threw away the old fast food containers, it wouldn't be so bad.”

“You know what I mean. You don’t go looking for me.”

Normally that was true. It was a rule that Deadpool had established early in their time working together. “True,” acknowledged Peter. “But, I got a letter for you.”

“What, you working for Devil’s law firm?”

“Not _that_ kind of letter!” Peter reached into the pocket and pulled out the (now severely wrinkled) letter before handing it Deadpool. “The Avengers and I were at a Meet-Your-Hero event,” Peter explained.

Deadpool took the letter from him and looked at the drawing on the envelope. “I heard about that,” he admitted.

“And one of the children was upset that a hero was missing,” Peter continued. “So, I said I’d deliver the letter to that hero. To _you_.”

Deadpool opened the letter. Peter didn’t think he was imagining the fact that Deadpool’s hand was shaking. “This is—wow, that was a lot of red crayon.”

Peter leaned over so he could see the letter and saw a child’s drawing of Deadpool missing an arm. “Well, the kid did say you lost your arm.” Peter nudged the masked merc with an elbow. “Good job, Hero.”

“I’m not a hero,” Deadpool said—but his fingers ran over the drawings as he shifted through them. The last one was Deadpool with little hearts around his face.

“Of course you are,” Peter said. “Especially to that kid.” Deadpool, uncharacteristically, said nothing. “And you know, there’s another one tomorrow,” Peter continued. “I think people would be happy to see you there.”

Deadpool snorted. “Not Tin Can,” he muttered.

“Yeah, but is he the important one?” Peter didn’t wait for an answer; he turned and left while Deadpool was still looking at the drawings.

The next day children were climbing all over Deadpool as he tried to tap out, while most of the Avengers watched with pursed, annoyed looks. And Peter?

Once again, Peter was the unwanted wallflower. But, the children were happy. And Deadpool, despite his protests to the contrary, was happy. And the Avengers could just go suck it.


End file.
